The Roses
by SashaDaae
Summary: How Erik does enjoy the pomp and circumstance of a dramatic entrance on New Year's. "It will soon be time. Unfortunate I will not have an invitation to show to the doorman. Then again, I do not need a simple piece of paper to prove my worth…"


Disclaimer: Nada, nothing. Includes Burn's poem at the very end.

Happy 2010, to those who have already welcomed it and are still awaiting its arrival.

Despite the ending, this story is intended to be "pre-Christine".

Dedicated to my dear debkay, an awesome reviewer =] Thanks for all your kind words, and I hope you enjoy!

_

You should have seen how I did it for the Sultana. She did enjoy smoke and incense, the play of little fireworks and the extinguishing of lights. I've done it to the patrons of the Opera, more to fuel their awe and amusement in a "ghost" than for myself.

Oh, how I do enjoy my exits! More pomp and circumstance than La Carlotta herself. The planning, of course, is dull- but the execution of it itself, well- that is the greatest of all. This one will be my greatest of all, my coup, for lack of a better word.

I have even written a sonata for the occasion! It is, of course, unnamed…but sometimes the greatest compositions lack a true title.

I can scarcely think of anything else as I sit here with my drug of choice. My muse…one of them, of course…the many, the great…

__

_He 's underneath the table._

_His mother doesn't know it, she never takes note of him anymore. If he were to run away from home, her cycle would continue as was. Although gratefully, her load of clothes to clean would be smaller._

_He watches her silently, silent as the tiger he sees in pictures of books waiting to pounce on the unassuming human. He is that tiger- graceful, silent, calculating._

_Beautiful._

_He waits to pounce, his little hands gripping the Persian rug; lips lick his chapped, lopsided lips. Her black shoes appear, clicking softly on the floor. Not yet, he tells himself. He is an impatient young man, but the tiger he has melded himself into knows exactly when…_

__

The perfect day, of course, is New Year's.

Quite predictable, even for me. But, it will be so predictable that _they shall not expect it!_

I sit and play my sonata. It has become my favorite, I am afraid. My poor Don Juan, how I have abandoned you yet again. Only for the time being, my friend. I always tell you this, I understand. But only for now. Only until Time comes.

__

_His long fingers run over the tiles, searching._

_Searching for what?_

_He is very well an oddity in the court. The sight of a corpse kneeling on the floor, listening to the Bowels of the Palace…it was laughable, really._

_If it had been any corpse but Erik, of course. If anyone were to dare laugh aloud at Erik..well, the lasso was never far from his grasp._

_From underneath he would make his appearance. Predictable, yet interesting. It would hold their attention, surely._

_It was his disappearance that would astound and amaze._

__

My hands tremble on the keys. Strange, normally I am not anxious. Perhaps it is due to the mere grandeur of tonight. I feel like a child on Christmas Eve; however they do always say that it is better to _give _than to _receive_…

My black coat hangs silently next to me, waiting. I return its steady gaze, rather to exchange shifty looks with my mask. The infernal, goddamned mask. No matter how beautiful, how ornate and delicate, I hate it, I loathe it. I would deeply enjoy sending it to Hell, were it a mortal object.

It will soon be time. Unfortunate I will not have an invitation to show to the doorman. Then again, I do not need a simple piece of paper to prove my worth…

__

_Tonight was to be the grandest night of all. Rather, I have come face to face with Lucifer himself. Horror, horror! My hand is shaking much too badly for now, I must pause before I continue._

_I am ready; a bottle of wine at my side, I feel confident enough to recount what has transcended._

_I was with the other young girls, as always- you see, ballet girls are much like schoolgirls, never an arm's length apart. Gossiping, as it was. We older girls took a habit to casting coy glances at the elder men- but of course this is beside the point._

_The Opera House had rung in the New Year. In fact it was now well past, mayhap two hours. Many of the patrons and older men were very drunk by now, to the embarrassment of their wives. The party itself was still going strong, however (this should come as no surprise, not to any of us that is)._

_The great gongs that Messieurs Debienne and Poligny had brought in especially for the occasion had just introduced us to two o'clock in the morning when the candles seem to flicker out, to dim, if you will. A couple of the drunks laughed and made slurred comments. We ballerinas wrinkled our noses and pursed our lips, but took no serious note._

_The drunks were making more comments again, repeating their words over and over. Debienne whispered to Poligny, Poligny escorted a couple of them out for some 'fresh air', as he called it._

_The Great Doors, however, suddenly closed all on their own!_

_A few of the women, holding their champagne flutes, glanced at each other nervously as Poligny pushed at the doors, his cheeks red with the effort (or perhaps embarrassment?). Finally he gave up and gave a mere smile at all of us. Debienne told the little ballerinas to quit their shrieking that it was a ghost._

_"But Monsieur, there is music. I swear, someone is playing something!" little Bernadette moaned._

_"She's right, yew knah!" cried one of the unfortunate patrons. "The purdy li'l ballerineh here is right!" A couple of the women nervously agreed. This, strangely, led to a dispute as to what the tune in question was. Mozart, Beethoven, Handel, Bach…_

_A crack like lightning. One of the gongs had shattered, its gold pieces flying through the air. We shrieked, clutching each others' arms, legs, necks, for fear of being hit by one of the arrows. I blinked, for my vision had blurred dramatically. I could not identify the strange powdery substance that made my eyes burn and my nose sting. I licked my lips and twisted my neck. The men were stumbling about, oddly silent save for their coughs. The women were crying softly, swinging their skirts about- probably trying to save their worth from the mysterious dust._

_The music had grown, trembling, wavering, in the air. It stopped prematurely as we all looked around. The silence around us was thick, stifling, worse than the powder. It was then that I saw fingers- long, disgusting fingers reaching for me, my neck. I screamed, and at that moment the scream returned, echoing! The scream grew louder and louder, climaxing in a chorus of cries of both genders._

_The hands never reached my neck. Rather they fluttered away in thin air, just before they touched my hair. I gasped for breath, clutching Madeleine, who sobbed into her sleeve. Laughing now, I thought I saw two yellow eyes. Eyes they were not; two candles burning brighter and brighter as our tall holiday ones dimmed. They seemed to adore the powder, feeding on it greedily like two young babes._

_I could scarcely see now; where my eyesight had blurred, it was now blinded by a display of yellow and orange and red. Madeleine and I steadily backed away slowly and cautiously._

_The Great Doors, at this very moment, swung open with such violence I was sure they would come off their hinges. The drunkards that had been led outside by Poligny were motionless and red._

_At this point Madeleine and I tried to run. We found ourselves shut out by mirrors, every which way. Hundreds and hundreds of mirrors! And yet it was not our reflection we saw. Rather it was a face, the most horrible face I have ever seen in all my years.._

_Horror! I felt my throat tighten and dry, as if a noose, an invisible noose, had been tied around it…_

_At this moment a voice greater than the cries of fear that were erupting in the room echoed._

_"Oh, my love's like a red, red rose._

_That's newly sprung in June._

_Oh, my love's like a melodie_

_That's sweetly played-_

_In tune!"_

_Roses seemed to be falling from the sky. But no- even now I doubt, where they roses? Was it something else? They were wet, so very wet, and when those lovely flowers fell upon my dress and the floor, they lost their form and spread out, forming hideous patterns._

_I felt the damned voice at my ear, whispering seductively. At the same time that voice was all over the room- from the highest most obscure corner to the exquisite staircase in front of me._

_The music did not return, as I greatly feared. Rather a deadly silence had come over us all, thicker than before. I could not movie. Madeleine could not move._

_I felt myself falling, falling forever in front of the mirror. The face was still there. Emotionless, yet those horrible eyes stared at me, into my soul. It spoke words to me- words I dare not repeat- that I know in the deepest parts of me are true. Of Madeleine, my father, the scent of alcohol staining my pillows…_

_When I finally tore my eyes away, I saw my skirts. Stained, forever ruined._


End file.
